So things in life happen either just once—or endlessly.
After experiencing "Transcendent State" that one ti, Tom was already calculating when he'd use it a second, maybe even a third ti.
But the brutal truth? He couldn't afford it.
Ever since awakening the system over a month ago, Tom had been grinding himself into the ground every day, barely scraping together a few hundred credit points.
It wasn't for lack of effort—far from it. Each day he spent between three to seven hours in the Learning Space, and that burned through his credits fast.
He'd been learning new spells recently and racking up minor achievents, which pushed his Achievent Points close to a hundred.
The problem was: credits ca slowly.
Still, staring at that beautiful round number, Tom couldn't help but start scheming again.
Should I summon another teacher?
A hundred Achievent Points could summon a "First-Class Genius" as an instructor.
Andros was great and all, but he knew little about modern magical systems. Most of the ti, it was Tom learning sothing and then teaching it to Andros.
Even worse, the powerful spells Andros had mastered were all considered ancient magic in the modern era. Learning them was a nightmare.
Not only did they demand deeply theoretical magical knowledge, but they also required fluency in archaic languages—Ancient Runes, Cretan, Mycenaean, and even the Ionian dialect used to compose the Iliad and Odyssey. Yes, that too was a magical script.
So, other than the Patronus Charm, the Impact Curse he'd used against the Zabini trio, and two recently acquired defensive spells, most of what Tom had learned so far were basic spells from textbooks.
Advanced-level magic? Still way out of reach.
The Restricted Section might hold the knowledge he needed…
But then again, with his na, his background, and his House...
Yeah.
Probably not the best idea to go nosing around in the Restricted Section just yet. That was practically a surefire way to land on Dumbledore's radar.
In hindsight, Tom was beginning to realize—his Sorting into Slytherin had a lot to do with Andros.
The Sorting Hat had said sothing that now stood out in his mory:
"A magical lineage even more ancient and pure than Salazar's himself."
It had to be because he'd drawn Andros' magical talent as one of his initial traits.
In a House obsessed with bloodlines, Tom's magical purity basically made him everyone's ancestor—including Salazar Slytherin himself.
Still, he put aside the idea of summoning another teacher.
On paper, "First-Class Genius" and "King of the Century" were only one tier apart, but in practice, the difference in power was massive.
Geniuses ca and went every generation. Take the four current Heads of House—they were each "First-Class Geniuses" in their fields.
But soone like Dumbledore? Like Andros?
They were the kind of legends that appeared once in a century—if that.
He'd rather save up and gather a thousand Achievent Points to summon another King of the Century.
As for the Immortal Legend tier… that was way too far off. Maybe once he unlocked new thods for earning achievent points.
Curse the system. It had spoiled him from the start, making his standards too damn high.
Tom didn't rember when he'd fallen asleep.
But he did rember being woken up—by noise.
The Zabini trio had actually gotten up earlier than him. Laughing and chatting loudly at the crack of dawn, they made it impossible for Tom to sleep.
Furious, Tom leapt out of bed, gave each of them a whipping curse, and drove them out of the dorm before crawling back into bed for so quality second-sleep.
Out in the hallway, the three roommates were livid.
Just as they were about to start swearing up a storm, the door next to theirs creaked open. A sleepy-eyed Draco Malfoy poked his head out and blinked at them.
"What are you lot doing out here?"
Zabini swallowed the curse that was right at the tip of his tongue.
The other two froze up as well.
It wasn't about keeping shaful secrets.
They just didn't want Malfoy to find out that the three of them—three proud pure-bloods—had just been beaten up and kicked out of their dorm… by a Muggle-born.
If Malfoy got wind of this, they'd never hear the end of it.
Especially him—he'd already seed obnoxiously arrogant at last night's welco feast, clearly drunk on having two hulking bodyguards.
"Nothing much," said Rosier, recovering fast. "It's our first day at Hogwarts—we were too excited to sleep, so we went for a walk."
Malfoy, still half-asleep, mumbled sothing about how uncultured they were and shuffled off to the bathroom.
"I think I hate him more than Riddle," Zabini grumbled, glaring at Malfoy's back.
He was sorely tempted to whip Malfoy the sa way Tom had whipped them.
Malfoy always acted so smug around them—like he was better.
We're all pure-bloods. We're all Sacred Twenty-Eight. Where the hell does your superiority co from?
From your flip-flopping excuse for a father?
Nott spat on the ground. "None of them are good news. Let's take them down one at a ti—Riddle first."
The other two nodded in agreent.
Maybe it was because they'd been beaten up together—twice. But the three of them had forged a decent little alliance overnight.
They huddled in a quiet corner of the common room to plan how to deal with Tom.
"We could ambush him," suggested Nott. "Wait around a corner or hide in a classroom. Catch him off guard and hit him from behind. Guaranteed win."
"No way, that's too risky," Rosier said, shooting down the plan instantly.
"If we get into a wand duel, we'll definitely lose. Did you see how smooth he was last night? Transfiguration, offensive spells—he looked more like a pure-blood than we do."
"If we ss up, we'll just get whipped again."
"What if we used magical items?" Zabini said darkly.
"There's this cursed artifact at my place—whoever touches it accidentally gets hexed. We could slip it into his things—"
"Are you insane?!" Nott nearly jumped.
"This is Hogwarts! Dumbledore's turf!"
"If he finds out, Riddle might be fine, but you? You'll be expelled for sure!"
Zabini fell silent.
Like most Slytherins, their feelings toward Dumbledore were a mix of fear and resentnt.
It was sothing passed down from their parents' generation—and none of them wanted their revenge plot to end up in the Headmaster's office.
Worse, if their parents were right about Dumbledore's favoritism toward Muggle-borns and half-bloods, they might be the only ones punished.
"…What if we tell Professor Snape?"
Rosier rubbed the sore spot on his shoulder. "My parents went to school with him. They were even… 'colleagues'. He'll look out for ."
Zabini frowned. "Snitching? Isn't that kinda humiliating? What if he tells my mum…"
Rosier was full of confidence.
"Relax. My parents are already in Azkaban. It's not like he's gonna send a letter there.
Dentors aren't exactly great at delivering post."
Zabini and Nott: "…"
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